Chapter One

This is a nightmare.

He knew he was dreaming. He knew it was not real. He always dreamt of him during this time of year, always thought of what was and what is. Half of him was berating himself for not delivering a quick pinch to his arm to wake himself up and put an end to his newest nightmare, but the other half can't bring himself to do so. Because, though he would never admit it, he felt like as if this was exactly what he deserved.

"England!" a child's happy voice cut through the dream like ice. England turned instantly in its direction, smiling at the small boy that bounded into his arms, beaming like he was the happiest lad in the world.

But this isn't real.

England was quite aware, and yet he didn't want it to end. He clung to the memory, welcomed it, and didn't even bother to stop what came next. In a flash, the boy in his arms had grown. His wide blue eyes, once so bright and trusting, turned cold and malicious. England stumbled back, aghast even though he knew it had been coming.

It's always the same dream…

A long rifle was pointed in his face, held in place by two steady hands. England did nothing.

It'll never change…

England jerked awake with a strangled gasp. For a dizzy moment, he had no idea where he was. He sat up with a groan, holding his absolutely throbbing head, and realized he had fallen asleep in his backroom, the one he only used whenever he wanted to use a particularly powerful spell. And what was in his hand? Was that a wand?

"Overdid it a bit…" he muttered to himself as he eyed a rather impressive pile of empty bottles of various alcoholic drinks. He tried to think back to how he managed to end up in his magic room, but clearly he had consumed much more alcohol than he had previously given credit for. He couldn't remember a single thing.

The last memory he could recall was leaving the United Nations meeting to have drinks with France.

France.

England gritted his teeth and immediately dug in his pockets for his mobile. When he finally located it, he checked the time. Nearly midnight. Tomorrow was Fourth of July. Ah, well, that would explain the drinking.

Feeling slightly better at having discovered at least one piece of the puzzle, Arthur checked his messages. It was practically a tradition for Francis to leave Arthur a text mocking whatever embarrassing thing he had done while intoxicated. To his surprise and slight irritation, he only had two messages. One was from France, but he was merely reminding Arthur to stop moping and get his derriere to the United Nations meeting the next morning. The other was from America, and it seemed to be some idiotic chain message that had originated from Poland. Ignoring them both, he stuffed his phone back in his pocket and stumbled uneasily to his feet.

He must have had much more than he thought. As he racked his brains to remember what exactly he did last not, or at least had tried to do, a massive headache came roaring to bid him hello. All other thoughts but a cup of hot tea and a good serving of aspirin flew from his head.

He left his magic room without a second thought. He had probably just summoned Russia again anyways.

After procuring lots of tea and lots of ibuprofen, England settled into his bed with a tired, miserable groan. He could hear the rain pattering against the roof, which sounded more like drums pounding in his hungover state. Drums…rain…America…

England pulled the covers over his head and burrowed his face in the pillow; seriously debating on the level of shit he would be in if he didn't show up tomorrow. But, he knew his own pride wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't allow those other big-headed nations make presumptions about him, like he was lying in bed and nearly reduced to tears because the rain reminded him of something that happened over two hundred years ago.

Gritting his teeth, he wrapped the pillow around his head, drowning out some of the noise, and fell asleep in that position a long while later.

...

The next morning, he woke up late.

It was France that woke him up by sending a flood of calls. England didn't bother answering, especially when he spotted the time and realized the meeting started in thirty minutes. He let out a stream of curses that would rival even his pirate days' rants and rocketed out of bed, rushing to put on a clean suit and splashing some water in his face so that, even if the rest of the world knew what he had been up to last night, he didn't look the part of a heartbroken mother.

By the time he made it to the meeting, he was twenty minutes late. Panting and nearly doubling over, he burst into the meeting room, only to find several irritated glances directed his way.

"England, about time you joined us!" Germany huffed, crossing his arms and shooting a discriminating glare England's way, only for it to be redirected at a snoring Italy, who was napping in his chair.

"Mon ami, whatever took you so long?" France asked with a knowing smirk. England held back his temper. If Winston Churchill was still his Prime Minister he would have allowed England to deliver a left hook into that perverted cheese-lover's face.

"Shut up, frog," was all he said and took his seat. Once everyone had lost interest in England's tardiness, he raised his gaze and searched the table hesitantly. One quick glance was all he needed to notice that America was not present.

Well, that couldn't be right.

He looked again, paying more attention this time.

There was Germany, up front and already speaking as though he had never been interrupted. Italy was beside him, asleep and looking utterly hopeless. Beside him was Romano, who looked murderous as a smiling Spain poked him in the cheek with his pen. Sweden was next, listening intently and every now and again shooting an angry glance at Italy each time the nation let out a snore. Russia, Greece, China, Japan…they were present and accounted for.

Then he locked eyes with France, who was seated beside him and gave him another one of those perverted smiles like he knew something England didn't. He hated that smile.

But no America.

He was certain he didn't miss him. No one could miss an energetic, loud-mouthed, obnoxious lad who would no doubt be shoving his face with burgers and shakes or blowing off firecrackers in the middle of Russia's speech. It was his Independence Day, after all, and usually by now America was demanding them all to come to his 'totally awesome' birthday party that would 'put all the others to shame.' It really wasn't like him to skip a meeting, even if it was on his birthday.

No one else seemed bothered by it. Perhaps they were all relieved that he didn't show up to go on and on about his newest plan to end world hunger or something. Maybe it finally happened and the idiot became too fat to leave his home.

A part of him was relieved, but another more annoying part of him knew it wasn't right. Something was off about the whole thing.

"Wait a tic," he said loudly, before he could stop himself, and unintentionally interrupted Germany again. "Where's America?"

The other nations exchanged confused glances. Even France looked bemused, but his expression quickly melted into being amused. He laughed and pushed a piece of his hair out of his face. "Were you not with him all night?"

"What?" England blinked. "Why would I be—?"

"England!" Germany barked. "We are trying to have a serious discussion! Can you even try to refrain from talking about America for two minutes so we could continue?!"

A bit of color rose in England's cheeks. "Excuse me?" he scoffed. "I do not talk about him every—"

"What place does he even have in a UN meeting anyways?" Romano hissed.

"Now, now, Lovi, be nice! You were just a colony once, too, you know!" Spain sang and attempted to pull Romano's curl, but got a stiff elbow knocked into his side instead.

"Shut up, you damn tomato bastard!"

China slammed his hands on the table. "I did not travel all way here to listen to another baby story!"

"Calm down," Japan muttered. "You're making a scene."

"You've done it now, Angleterre," France whispered. "Though, I'm dying to know, did you make use of my, ah, gift I sent the two of you?"

"What the bleeding hell are you talking about?" England sputtered. "And where is America? I know he's a dope, but, really, he's going to miss the meeting just because it's his birthday? How childish can he get?"

He was met with bewildered silence. Even Italy, who had been awakened by the other countries' outbursts, was frowning at him. England's face went red from the unwanted attention. "Why are you all looking at me like I'm mad?" he shouted, feeling uncomfortable hot in his suit.

"Is he drunk?"

"I wouldn't doubt it…"

"We should just send him home."

England gaped at each whispering nation. This must have been a joke. A big prank put on by America, no doubt. They were probably all laughing at him behind their confused stares and concerned frowns. "I…" England choked. "Damn it! Has everyone gone daft? Did America put you up to this? Well, it's not very funny!"

"No one's laughing, Angleterre…" France muttered.

"Ve," Italy spoke up, "I think England may be sick."

England was so flustered at that point that he could no longer form words. Instead, he was left stuttering half-finished syllables and incoherent phrases. "R-ridiculous…all of you are bloody ridiculous!" He started to get angry. He stood up and gave the room his coldest glare, daring them all to continue on with their joke. "If you will not take this seriously then I have no business here!"

"England!" Germany shouted. "Sit back down and—where are you going?"

"Home!" England huffed, practically steaming at this point. "I have no desire to sit here and be made a fool of!" He stomped off, making for the door. Before he slammed it shut behind him he shouted, "And tell America he's a fucking git!"

...

By the time England made it back to his home he was still furious. He practically all but tore his front door off its hinges as he kicked it open and then closed again. He leaned back against it, letting out an aggravated growl. His eyes slid closed as he tried desperately to delete the last hour out of his memory. "Bastards…every one of them!" he grumbled and stomped off to the kitchen.

The only thing he wanted to do was prepare some tea and forget today ever happened.

Damn that America…it was his entire fault!

As he entered the kitchen, England realized he wasn't alone. A taller man was standing at the counter, already pouring tea into a cup. He recognized the dark blonde hair and the cowlick curling up. "America…?" England blinked, even further lost until his anger caught up with him. "Hey! America! What the bloody hell are you doing here?! How did you get in?!"

America slowly turned, revealing wide blue eyes that were lacking his glasses. He was wearing formal clothing; buttoned white shirt and black dress pants and looking overall like a presentable gentleman. "Oh, Artie, you're home early!" he piped happily.

"What…why…how…?" England sputtered. "Wait…" he paused for a moment. "Did you just…call me Artie?"

America didn't seem to be paying any attention to him. "Did the UN meeting end early again? Or could you just not wait to see me?"

England was too stupefied to say anything, but he was pretty sure he made a rather embarrassing drawn-out noise. His brain was trying to make sense of the situation but he could only think of two possible explanations. One: America was playing the cruelest joke of the century. Two: England was still dreaming and was having a horrible nightmare induced by alcohol and his own paranoia.

America took a step forward, placing a firm hand on England's trembling shoulder. "Hey, Artie? Are you all right? You're not getting sick, are you?"

"Wh-what are you doing here?" England gasped. He was no longer angry, just confused and desperate to get America to leave him well and alone.

"What? Don't tell me you forgot I was visiting!" America sounded amused. "I know, usually you visit me this time of year but we both agreed it would be nice if I came over this time, remember?" England shook his head. He had no recollection of making any such arrangements. America pouted. "Really?" he asked.

England sighed. "Look, I've already had a trying day, thanks to you, Mr. United States of America, and I must say it must've taken you quite a while to set everything up. I say, how did you get all of the other nations to go along with it?"

"Arthur, what are you talking about?" America frowned for real this time. "Set what up? Get the other nations to do what? Aw, crap, did France tell you about that present he sent?! I told him you'd hate it!"

It took three hundred years of constantly bickering with him for England to know when America was being truthful or stubborn, and, when he peered into America's worried eyes, he realized that America really had no idea what was going on.

England glared at him cautiously. "Why weren't you at the United Nations meeting?"

America gave him a look like he was insane. "Why would I be there?"

"Because you are a bloody nation and you need to take responsibility for your people, that's why!" England huffed, poking America in the chest.

"England, I really think you should lie down!" America said, putting down the cup of tea and pressing his palm against England's forehead. "You're not feeling well."

England opened his mouth to habitually correct America's grammar, until he realized that the other nation had said 'well' and not 'good.' "What's...what's happening?" he muttered to no one, eyes staring right through America, who was busying himself with trying to locate cold medicine in the cupboards.

Stunned beyond adequate muscle control, England allowed his stiff body to be pushed around by the annoying American, who was going on and on about how England promised him he would stop working so hard and drinking so heavily. He sounded like England's mother. Getting lectured by that brat…it made England feel even worse, especially when America went on and on about promises England never remembered making.

"…All right?" America finished and looked at England expectantly. England managed a nod. He didn't trust his voice right then. "Arthur?"

England looked up to see America was handing him a tea cup. He took it only to stare blankly into the steaming drink. A long silence fell over them. It wasn't until he heard a distinct sipping sound that he looked up again. "Since…when do you drink tea?" England asked as America lowered the cup from his lips and gave him a puzzled look.

"Um…" America thought for a bit. "Do you need an exact date?"

England didn't answer. Instead, he took a long sip and let the tea calm him a little. "So…" he muttered. "This joke is getting a little old, isn't it?"

"What joke is that?"

"I…oh, you are an insufferable brat!" England cried. "Just tell me why you skipped the UN meeting? Just to spite me?"

"Whoa, whoa, England, calm down!" America gasped, dodging as England's teacup went flying past his ear. "I don't need to go to the UN meetings! You represent all of the UK, so, I'm covered, aren't I?"

It took several minutes for England to comprehend the meaning of those words. "You…you're…UK?"

"Look, Arthur, you're ill. I don't mind staying in tonight. I'll take care of you, okay?"

The smile America gave England just then…it reminded him of when America was still just a small colony—

England froze.

"A…America?" he asked, feeling ready to faint.

"Yeah?"

"D-do you know all the nationalities that make up the United Kingdom?"

America broke into a smile. "Is this another one of your tests? Well, let's see…there's Northern Ireland, Wales, Scotland, and, of course, England, and, well, me."

"You?"

"Duh! Man, I know you're getting old but you've got to be pretty dumb if you can't remember your own sovereignties."

"My…sovereignties…" he repeated. "I…you…"

America no longer seemed to be paying attention. He said something about fetching more medicine, leaving England to sit in a stunned silence. He thought back to the morning, when he woke up surrounded by empty alcohol bottles and signs that he had attempted some sort of curse. He couldn't have actually…

He immediately rose to his feet, eyes latched onto the kitchen, where he could hear America humming cheerfully as he fixed up another cup of tea. Gulping, he rushed for his bookshelf, running his hands down the glossy spines of each book until he spotted a thick, older text labeled History of the British Empire. Feeling more apprehensive than he could ever remember, he pulled the book from its dusty home and flipped through the pages quickly. He knew the page number by heart. Page 134. The American War of Independence.

But, when he stopped at page 134, there wasn't a passage on the revolution or any mention of the American colonies being disdainful at all. Instead it spoke of a failed attempt on France's part to invade the colonies (again) and that the colonies repelled the attack on their own. The American Revolution seemed to have vanished entirely.

What did he do last night?

Feeling faint, the book slipped from his numb fingers. He could hear America's humming grow louder and suddenly two hands were resting on his shoulders. "Arthur?"

England slowly turned to look into the confused eyes of blue. America was there. He was really there. Suddenly England was fighting between wanting to laugh and to cry. Instead, he settled on taking the second cup of tea from America's steady hands.

England had no idea what he did exactly in that back room, but when he looked back at America, who gave him a smile, he wasn't looking at the same annoying, loud nation that he had shouted at yesterday for stacking his fries in a tall tower during England's speech.

He was looking into the eyes of his newly reestablished colony.

Hi :3 because I'm a procrastinator and get nothing done on time, I started to wonder what England would do if America somehow became his colony again. This is only going to be a few chapters long, just something else to avoid finishing my other stories. Review, maybe? :P